


But I Know (It's Nobody's Fault)

by Valmasy



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Depression, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmasy/pseuds/Valmasy
Summary: It's a spectacularly bad idea. The whiskey doesn't even burn anymore as he swallows it down, down to the bottom of his second bottle. Not that anyone would notice or care; certainly not the bartender whom Tony is sure to tip well. The guy's gotten used to seeing Tony these past few weeks, knows Tony isn't there to cause trouble or get sloppy drunk.Joke's on him.~~An AU based very loosely on the backstory of Robert and Joseph from Dream Daddy.





	But I Know (It's Nobody's Fault)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarialdarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarialdarion/gifts), [Missy_dee811](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/gifts).



It's a spectacularly bad idea. The whiskey doesn't even burn anymore as he swallows it down, down to the bottom of his second bottle. Not that anyone would notice or care; certainly not the bartender whom Tony is sure to tip well. The guy's gotten used to seeing Tony these past few weeks, knows Tony isn't there to cause trouble or get sloppy drunk.

Joke's on him. Tony always leaves sloppy drunk, but he's Anthony Goddamn Stark, and no one will ever be able to accuse him of being drunk in public.

They can, however, peg him for bad decisions, and as previously mentioned, this is a spectacularly bad one. Tony can see the man like a damn beacon in this dimly-lit hellhole; with blonde hair and blue eyes so bright, he can't help but draw notice in the sea of dark clothes and creaking leather. 

Rumiko hasn't been in the ground four months, body still figuratively warm, but Tony is drunk, and the man's inviting smile already feels like those lips are wrapped around Tony's cock.

He's fully aware he's going to Hell. He doesn't deserve to be in the same place as Rumiko anyway.

Tony has no problems meeting the man's gaze straight on; the man bites his lip and tilts his head subtly towards the door. It's enough. Tony finishes his whiskey and pushes the bartender the customary tip before he grabs his jacket and heads for the door.

He doesn't need to look to know that the other man has followed suit, so he shoves his arms into the leather and rolls his shoulders to adjust the sit of it. There's a wall of heat at his back that collides with the warmth of the whiskey in his gut. His skin prickles in fierce anticipation, but he knows from years of practice that his features are calm. 

He calculates the distance from the bar's front door to the nearest alleyway, allowing for twenty seconds either way -- it depends whether or not the man will want introductions first -- to the moment he finds out what the man's smile tastes like. The air is balmy against his face, the sea air salting the breeze. It ruffles Tony's hair, displacing errant locks even further as Tony turns in the direction of his motel; he'd had to move out of the penthouse. Rumiko fills the lavish rooms like a spectre. It's consequently also the direction of the closest alleyway, and because he's a genius, the seconds tick down exactly as a large, guiding hand cups his elbow and all but drags him into the darkened alley. 

He's pressed forward against one brick wall, and Tony dismisses introductions in favor of a grunt the melts into a groan as a half-hard cock grinds forward into the swell of his ass.

"You're so beautiful," the man says at Tony's ear, catching one of Tony's wrists in a light grip to hold it further up the wall. 

Tony catches the scent of tequila and lime on the breath that fans across his cheeks, and he wants to snort at the man's choice in beverages, because margaritas, really? But he's only groaning again as the man shoves his other arm between Tony and the wall to drag Tony's ass back against that cock.

Tony drops his forehead to the wall, letting the fire chase the alcohol poisoning in his veins, and gets his eyes focused enough to watch the man work his hand into Tony's pants. 

Long, dexterous fingers work Tony's clasp and zipper open easily, and Tony files the flecks of paint at his nails away for later if he chooses. 

The man's hand is as large and warm as promised, unhesitating as it fists Tony's cock and pumps him to fully hard in a surprisingly short amount of time considering the volume liquor Tony's consumed this evening. 

Tony's only able to grind against the man to get more friction, urging the man on as he watches the tip of his dick flush and dampen with beads of precum visible only because of the flickering streetlight to their left. 

"Fuck," he swears, and he feels that goddamn smile press against his shoulder through the leather jacket. 

"Promise?" And holy fuck, the man's voice is enough to send more fluid welling up to drip down over the man's fingers. "I've got all night, if you've got the room."

Tony bites his lip and thrusts against the man's grip. There's only a little resistance as the man chuckles, low and knowing. 

"Yeah," Tony hears himself say, and that spectacularly bad idea expands, contracts, and narrows down to the slide of the man's hand along Tony's shaft then away. "Yeah, I do."

"Good," the man replies and takes his hand away. 

Tony turns around, closing his pants up, in enough time to see the man suck his fingers clean. He straightens his jacket and strides out of the alley with the man strolling out behind him.

"Steve," Tony hears, and he glances at the man who seems as relaxed as Tony the alcohol would make him.

"Tony." 

The man -Steve nods, and by unspoken agreement, they remain silent the few blocks to the Tony's hotel. Steve doesn't say anything about the location, its doorman or the fancy, gilded elevators. He doesn't ask after the expensive room service cart that's waiting for Tony upon entry into the suite, doesn't even exclaim at the view through the open balcony doors. 

Tony's grateful.

So fucking grateful that he doesn't mind being shoved up against a wall again, but this time they're chest-to-chest, and Steve's smile tastes like margaritas and the promise of a good ride. 

Tony catches hints of paint on Steve's other hand before both are sliding into Tony's hair and holding his head still for Steve's kiss. It's hard and demanding for all that it's inviting Tony closer, deeper with each slip and sweep of their tongues. 

Tony gets a hand on Steve's chest, and he barely has to exert any pressure before Steve is stepping back. Desire is a good look on the man, Tony sees, pupils blown and lips bruised. 

He drinks it all in, eidetic memory committed to every details despite inebriation, and he gets the feeling that Steve is doing the same. He slides his hand down Steve's chest, palms his stomach before hooking three fingers into Steve's waistband and leading him from the suite's foyer into the large bedroom.

From there, it's a blur of stripped clothing and exposed skin. Steve's mouth is greedy; he takes great pleasure in applying it to almost every inch of Tony's body after they finally make it onto the bed. Tony is left twisting and panting as his nipples are teased to almost painful sensitivity, and a hickey is sucked into the edge of his navel. His cock throbs against Steve's bare chest, smearing precum across his hot skin as Tony grinds up for friction. 

Steve doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, dragging his tongue down the trail of Tony's hair leading to his groin.

Tony gets one hand in Steve's hair and fists the blonde strands until he can tug. He doesn't know if it's gentle or not, but Steve only hums against his pubic bone, so Tony doesn't give a shit. 

Especially when that greedy mouth is liberally applied to Tony's shaft. Tony closes his eyes and tilts his head against the mattress, mouth parting on an encouraging sigh.

Steve licks and sucks at Tony's cock, the tip of his tongue tracing every vein and throb until he finally, finally, presses the flat of it against the underside and closes his mouth around the head. He pulls Tony's hips up just as he starts sucking at the tip, and Tony can barely keep the moan from being embarrassingly loud. 

His hands press into Tony's ass cheeks, holding him still as Steve bobs his head down, taking Tony to the back of his mouth like he can't get enough. He moans around Tony, the sound rocking down Tony's cock and up his spine, and those hands shift. His fingers spread Tony open, dip between to rub and test and tease at Tony's entrance.

It's been awhile, but Tony knows his body. He'll need prep, but it shouldn't take long. He eagerly twitches his hips down against Steve's hands.

But Steve presses Tony back down against the bed and kneels up. Like a fucking Greek God or something, Tony really is drunk, Steve is backlit by the lights in the outer rooms of the suite; The light bounces around off the decorative mirrors on the bureaus in the bedroom and casts Steve in attractive shadows, drawing Tony's eyes to the hard length of Steve's cock. 

Steve's hands massage Tony's thighs for a moment before he follows Tony's line of sight. Tony sees him smirk then wrap one of those hands around himself. He strokes his cock for Tony, drawing his hand slowly up from the heavy set of his balls, along the tight stretch of his shaft, to the very red tip of his cock. 

"You like what you see?" Steve asks, sly amusement weighing his tone down. 

"I'll like it even more when it's doing its job,” Tony replies, rocking his hips up into the space between them. 

Steve laughs, teeth bright and expression still wholesome and clean cut even with their lustful activity. "And I want to be buried inside this ass, baby, I really do, but I don't have the patience to open you up right now."

Tony's stomach lurches with a ripple of confusion at first, but his brain quickly snaps back onto the same page as Steve pushes his legs together then shifts forward to straddle him instead.

Tony cups Steve's knees as they frame his waist, fingers dipping into the crease of his knees then sliding up the ridiculous muscles of his thighs. 

"But you-" Steve cuts him off, leaning down with a swift, hard kiss. One hand plants itself beside Tony's head on the covers and the other takes Tony's hand and brings it back to Steve's ass. 

Tony feels the slickness of lube before his fingers connect with the flat end of a plug. He chokes on air through his nose, grunting with it into the kiss and Steve grins and uses Tony's newfound grip to fuck himself with the plug. 

Tony is reeling, so aroused that the drunkenness seems like an afterthought. He turns his wrist to get a better hold and then shakes Steve's hand off to work the plug himself.

"You came to the bar to get fucked tonight," Tony says against Steve's mouth. The words could almost be accusing if they hadn't just met, accompanied by the wet sound of the hard plastic stretching Steve open over and over.

Steve drops his forehead to Tony's, eyes squeezing shut as he seemingly focuses on the push and pull of the toy. "So did you," he counters.

Tony husks out a laugh, the burn of it ripping along his throat. He moves his shoulders a little to the side, and he knows he's thrusting the plug maybe a little too hard, but he can feel the fine tremors under Steve's skin, and they're driving him crazy. 

"Difference being, you weren't leaving alone tonight no matter what, were you?" Tony asks, tipping his chin up to bite at Steve's lip. There's a strange curl of possessiveness in Tony's gut. He can't ignore it. "I could have left, come back here and gotten shitty sleep all by myself. That wasn't an option for you, though, was it? I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did."

Steve groans, the sound punched from his gut as he jerks back against the plug, grinds against Tony's hand as Tony presses the plug deep as he can. He twists it, and Steve emits a low enough noise to avoid being a whine. 

"I wouldn't have much longer," Steve admits, cheeks flushed and eyes barely open as he meets Tony's gaze. "I would've hoped you'd go to the bathroom and then cornered you in there. I was thinking about getting you in a stall and sucking your dick until you came on my tongue and face."

Tony swears under his breath then bites harder at Steve's mouth, and they kiss again, teeth clacking together with the force of it. 

Steve rips his mouth away, turning his head to watch from the corner of his eye as he pulls Tony's hand free. The plug drops over the side of the bed in the next few seconds, and Tony's cock gives a hard throb in anticipation. 

"What if I hadn't been interested?" Tony catches at Steve's thighs as Steve kneels up. He's struck again by how intensely gorgeous and cut Steve is, every stretch and flex of muscle perfectly sculpted. 

Steve reaches behind himself and takes hold of Tony's cock. He strokes Tony once, twice, more as he gathers the flow of precum before rolling a condom down over him. He spreads the fluid along Tony’s head and shaft then, letting Tony's hips roll into the motion.

"I would've jerked myself off until the next man walked in," Steve says, daring Tony with his words, but daring him for what, Tony can't figure out, doesn't want to yet. 

"But you didn't turn me down," Steve says, smug and confident, as he lowers himself onto Tony. He goes slowly, the fat head of Tony's cock stretching him open on the flare. He pauses as if enjoying the initial burn of it, then Tony is enveloped completely in a roll of Steve's hips.

Tony's hearing statics-out for a moment, tuning back in for the grunting, moaning breaths trapped between their mouths, the damp, slick slap of skin on skin, the near-silent creak of expensive bedsprings. 

Tony finally gets the freedom to explore Steve with his hands, marking him lightly with the scratch of blunted nails and manages to not picture the blood on his hands.

It's all pushed down and away with each thrust and rock of their hips in the frantic, hard chase to orgasm. Steve's dick is rubbing along Tony's stomach, and Steve presses in closer, tighter, slowing the motion of their fucking until it's a delicious, insanely-dirty grind. Their tongues slip together lazily, and Steve laces both of their hands together, drawing them up to the pillows.

"Make me come on your cock, Tony," Steve whispers, encourages, demands, as he presses his mouth open and hot against Tony's jaw. "I can see it in your eyes, Tony. You didn't turn me down, so take it. It's yours."

A switch flicks on inside Tony, and his heels are planted into the bed just as Steve lifts his hips, not far, just enough to shift Tony's cock inside of him. Tony bares his teeth, fueled by alcohol and that strange perverted possessiveness, and begins fucking up into Steve with hard snaps of his hips. 

Steve buries his face in Tony's throat and begins moaning like he's being paid for it, and he could expect payment after this, but Tony doesn't give a fuck, because he's going to make Steve come on his cock alone and then he's going to pull out, rip the condom off and come on his perfect fucking face.

"Yes," Steve moans, the sound catching and hitching in his throat. "Yes, Tony, that's it. Make me come so you can do that. I wanna feel you mark me up, jerk off on me, claim me."

Tony wants to pull his hands free, drag Steve's hips forcibly into each thrust, but Steve's grip is tight, unyielding, and he starts to meet each thrust on his own. His skin is positively slick with sweat, the beads of it dropping to splash against Tony's skin. 

It drives Tony mindless, hips driving his cock deeper, harder as Steve begins to shake and lose his the stability of his pace. He angles body slightly and gives Tony a groan that sounds more growl and gravel than pleasure, and he feels Steve's cock jerk and pulses between them, coating their stomachs in a mix of cum and sweat. 

Tony's eyes cross with how tight Steve's body clenches down on his cock like he's trying to force Tony's orgasm along with him. It doesn't last, though. Steve pulls off before his dick is even done spilling, and he's pulling Tony up, up and up until Tony's kneeling and Steve is carefully, but impatiently pulling off the condom. Tony is already stroking himself quickly, teeth bared in tension as each upstroke shoves his cock against Steve's chin, his bottom lip. 

Steve swallows, parts his lips and wets them once as he meets Tony's gaze. Tony stiffens, hand moving almost in a blur as little "un un"s break through his held breath. 

"So fucking... Goddamn," Tony manages, squeezing on the next stroke and finding his climax with a painful exhale. He does as promised, painting Steve's mouth and tongue with cum, catching the slope of his cheek and the thickness of his eyelashes. 

Steve laps at him, closes his eyes and takes Tony into his mouth to lick him clean, suck him dry. 

It takes a few minutes, but they eventually collapse back in a heap in the center of the bed, panting and flushed. 

"You want me to go or stay," Steve asks, not allowing any of the awkward dance that usually accompanies a bar pickup. 

Tony shrugs, but he answers: "You can stay."

Steve does.

Over the next few weeks, Tony cleans up, sells the penthouse and enjoys Steve's sporadic-to-steady company. He tells Steve about Rumiko and the mugging that took her life when Tony wasn't strong enough to stop it.

Steve spends the whole night telling Tony it wasn't his fault, chaste and comforting as he held Tony tight. "God has his ways," Steve murmurs, "they're not always plain in the face, but he does. You know she's in a better place, but there's nothing wrong with mourning the loss of her brightness. As long as you can forgive yourself."

For some reason, it's exactly what Tony needs to hear, the perfect words to ease the guilt on his shoulders as Steve's smiles and encouraging presence help to brighten the days again.

He meets a handful of Steve's friends, but promises to keep mum about the relationship. "I'm sure they know that I'm not straight," Steve says one night, "but I'm not... I'm not ready to confirm it."

"It's okay,” Tony says, because it is. He hasn't told Steve who he is yet, or confirmed if Steve already knows. Who is he to judge? They're young and in lust, maybe love. They get drunk a lot, get matching tattoos; two streaks of twisting colors, red and blue, passion and clarity. Steve's goes on his bicep, and Tony's goes on his left hand in the curve of his thumb and forefinger.

It's December now, though, and Tony kind of wants to take Steve home to New York for a real snowy Christmas, not Malibu's beach equivalent. After all, no one needs to know the truth of their three month friendship to go to Times Square.

He'd just made the decision to ask Steve this morning, but he sits now on the plush couch in Steve's apartment, feeling a numbness settling into his bones.

"So you understand, right?" Steve says, looking pained in a way that Tony can't tell if it's genuine or not. "I can't make her do this alone, Tony. I've always loved her, you see, and now that... Now that she's pregnant... Peggy and I-"

Margaret Carter, Tony thinks, the attractive brunette with the killer red lipstick and heart of a good woman. She's like Tony's mother, soft spoken, but firm, and perfectly perfect just like Steve.

Honestly, Tony's not surprised to hear they've been fucking this whole time too. He's just surprised that his heart hadn't known.

"Of course, I do," Tony says, press persona sliding into play as he sympathizes. "Honestly, you two were meant to be anyway. It's obvious you absolutely adore her. I expect pictures of the baby.

Perfunctory words. Perfunctory response. Neither of them mean anything they say now.

"I was actually coming to talk to you anyway," Tony says, showing Steve the flight itenerary. "I've got to head back home. Family stuff, so I doubt I'll be back in California anytime soon. I didn't want to up and disappear on you."

"No, I appreciate that," Steve replies. The welcome is drawing thin. Tony gets up to leave. He walks to the door, and Steve stands behind him. 

"I'll miss you, Tony," Steve murmurs, and Tony dares to briefly touch Steve's shoulder. Then, the door is shutting between them, and Tony is taking the stairs down out of the apartment because he doesn't have the focus to dam the well of emotion before Steve's betrayal sinks into his bones and leaves him crying in the stairwell.

Tony has been so blind, so stupid, allowing himself to believe they could be something when Steve had never intended that. Every word and action perfectly acted to draw Tony in and keep him there, aided by Tony's fear of loss and other neuroses.

Two days later, he's moved back to New York. Three days after that, his name and face are displayed across every news station in the country and most of the world. The world boils down to two facts: Howard and Maria Stark are found dead in a car crash, and Anthony Stark steps into the lead role of his father's business.

Across the country, Steve stares at the television while Peggy pours a glass of wine.

**Author's Note:**

> I knew I wouldn't be the only one making this comparison, but here we are. :)


End file.
